


In the Moons' Silver Light

by Auriana Valoria (AuriV1)



Series: The Mage and the General [2]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, Dragon Age Quest: Wicked Eyes and Wicked Hearts, F/M, Love Confessions, Romantic Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-22
Updated: 2017-10-22
Packaged: 2019-01-21 13:40:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,898
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12458949
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AuriV1/pseuds/Auriana%20Valoria
Summary: General Rutherford goes hunting for Inquisitor Trevelyan after the events at the Winter Palace.What he ultimately finds is much more than he could have ever hoped for.





	In the Moons' Silver Light

The Inquisitor had disappeared into thin air.

That was the conclusion to which Cullen had come to after marching around the vestibule and the ballroom for perhaps the hundredth time that evening.

He loudly sighed his frustration – not caring in the least who heard him – and tugged at his bow tie to loosen it a bit. Since the festivities were drawing to a close, keeping appearances didn’t matter as much now. Josephine couldn’t tell him otherwise. Besides, everything else about his dress uniform was still in pristine condition; his short-waisted black jacket and matching trousers were spotless, as was his crisp white shirt and dress gloves. Fearing poison, he hadn’t touched any of the refreshments all evening, and so there had been little opportunity to soil his garments.

He glanced along the side halls as he walked, the bright, polished gold picture frames and brass embellishments in the furniture mirroring his reflection every few steps. He was still so overwrought from the events of the night that every little flash in the metal of his scarlet cummerbund or the thin crimson stripe down the side of his trousers made him think he glimpsed blood. He shuddered in his fatigue…the instant they left this place and returned to Skyhold would not be a moment too soon.

His footsteps were loud against the shining tile floor as he continued his hunt for the Inquisitor in the less populated areas of the palace, dodging questioning eyes behind ostentatious masks every now and then, despite his speed and obvious focus. Still, he noticed that fewer people bothered him when he walked with purpose. Had he known that little fact earlier in the evening, he would have happily spent the past five hours walking in circles around the perimeter of the ballroom for the sole purpose of keeping his antagonizing audience at a respectable distance. Hissing his irritation at the thoughts of the sheer misery he had endured this night, he ran one gloved hand through his hair. He no longer had his officer’s cap; it had been unceremoniously tossed to a valet to take back to the limousine when he had tired of carrying it under his arm.

 _Limousines_. Josephine had _insisted_ they use the absurd vehicles to travel to the Winter Palace instead of the armored cars he could just as easily have procured for the evening. Naturally, the ambassador would hear nothing of it, instead preferring the maintenance of a stately image to ensuring physical safety. It was the same reason they were all in fancy getups instead of something more practical and with far more protective gear underneath. His only comfort all night had been the weight of his pistol in its shoulder holster under his jacket – the same that his honor guard wore. He was less certain about the arms of the Inquisitor and her companions, though the mages were never completely defenseless, even without actual weapons on their person.

As he thought about it, he briefly wondered if the Inquisitor had hidden anything at all in her own garb, in case her magic failed her. It would have been especially difficult to conceal anything under her strapless gown, particularly with its mermaid silhouette…

He swallowed hard. Maker, she was beautiful tonight. She was always beautiful, really, but _tonight_ …

It may have been customary to address the Empress as “Her Radiance,” but as far as Cullen was concerned, there was only one woman who could ever be called such a thing and the title actually mean something. It was the Inquisitor who had been truly radiant that night, standing head and shoulders above all the rest, unsullied by the taint of the debauched court. Her crowning moment of glory had been when she had toppled Florianne in front of the entirety of Orlais’s gentry with naught but her words as weapons. There she had stood in the middle of the ballroom with all the authority and deportment of a queen, the diamond eye of her Inquisition diadem flashing its fire with every look and searing all who beheld it like the gaze of the Maker himself…

“Hey, Cullen, you looking for the Inquisitor?”

Iron Bull’s voice broke him out of his thoughts. He halted in his tracks as he saw the qunari sauntering towards him, his jacket draped over one arm, his tie missing, and his shirt unbuttoned at the collar.

“I…yes.” Cullen’s brow furrowed, and he shook his head. “How did you know?”

“Who else could you possibly be pursuing at _that_ speed?” Bull cracked a wry smile and winked his one eye, “Besides, you get that dreamy-eyed thing going when you’re thinking about her.”

Cullen opened his mouth to protest, but was stopped as the qunari chuckled and added with a jerk of his thumb behind him, “She’s on the rear balcony. Wanted some time to herself to unwind a bit. But maybe you could help with that, eh, General?” Bull chuckled again and brushed past with a friendly nudge before continuing on, whistling as he went.

Clearing his throat, Cullen made his way to the glass doors that led to the balcony at the rear of the palace, overlooking the gardens. Sure enough, there she was, leaning on the balustrade, her head down. For a moment, he considered just turning around and leaving instead of disturbing her. But something stopped him.

For a moment, he merely stood silently at the doors, watching her. For all his ranting about how silly it was for the women to be wearing dresses at a function where they might very well have to run for their lives, he thought she looked positively _lovely_ in the gown Leliana had helped her pick out – plain black satin, spilling to the floor, its only adornment a thin silver belt at her waist, set with glittering diamonds. It matched the single diamond set into the eye upon her diadem – the silver crown with its three upright swords that was a mark of her station as Inquisitor. With its comb teeth on either side, it also functioned as a hairpiece that somehow held up her shoulder-length raven locks in an elegant updo atop her head. He briefly wondered if such a style was as cumbersome to wear as it looked.

Then, as if to answer his unspoken question, she suddenly let out a long sigh and took the diadem in one satin-gloved hand, plucking it from her head in a single fluid movement. An ebon cascade then spilled down her bare back and shoulders in heavy waves, starkly contrasting with the moonlit ivory of her skin. He felt his breath catch in his throat at the sight, his heart doing a little flop in his chest. As she loosened her hair with her other hand, the black waves positively shimmering in the silver light, he could have sworn he caught a whiff of her perfume – the scent of Crystal Grace and lavender – and it pulled at him like a magnet.

_Sweet Andraste, help me…_

His feet moved almost of their own accord, and he approached her tentatively. Carefully, quietly, he cleared his throat to alert her to his presence, hopefully without startling her too much. She immediately straightened and turned around at the noise, a look of tense anticipation on her face. But when she saw him, her expression instantly melted into something that resembled relief, and she smiled at him with those alluring wine-red lips of hers.

“General Rutherford,” she dipped her head a little to him. “Was there something you needed?”

 _You_ , was the first thought that jumped in his head, a thought he struggled to tamp down as he replied instead, “Oh, ah, no. Not at all, Inquisitor.” His voice felt like it didn’t even belong to him as he hastily added, “I uh, _ahem_ …wanted to check and make sure you were all right.”

She seemed to pause a bit at that, cocking her head at him a little. “I’m fine, General, thank you.” She glanced away briefly. “Just…just a bit tired, is all. It’s been a trying evening.”

 _You can say that again_.

He slowly drew up beside her, leaning one arm on the balcony railing as she turned back towards the garden. “If I may say so, that was quite the performance, earlier, Inquisitor. You did exceedingly well, tonight. Things are calm, now, and returning to normal. Well, as normal as Orlais can possibly be.”

She laughed lightly. “Good. Honestly, I’d be happy for just a normal party, now. I could use a distraction from all this world saving. A pity the only dance offer I got was part of a plan to get me killed.”

As she leaned forward on the banister again, eyes focused on nothing, he was struck by a sudden impulse he just _couldn’t_ ignore. This may have been the only opportunity he would ever have to do something like this…

“Well,” he said, pushing off from the balustrade and taking a step back. “Let us change that, shall we?” She watched, then, curiosity sparking in her moonlit eyes, as he gave her a deep bow and proffered his hand to her. “May I have this dance, my lady?”

Her brows rose in surprise, and her answer was more stuttering than he had expected. “I…but I…I thought you didn’t? That’s what you told everyone who asked…”

He felt a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “I did. But for your sake, my lady, I will try.”

Her eyes – those enthralling blue-violet orbs that had captivated him since day one – widened for a moment. Then, setting her crown on the banister and stepping forward, she took his hand and mirrored his smile with her own. “I would love to dance with you, General.”

Her black glove slid into his white one, and he straightened, his heart pounding as she neared him. Her touch was as light as that of a butterfly, so that, for an instant, he had to wonder if she was just a vision in his head, a symptom of the withdrawals that ravaged his body almost every waking moment, especially when he was as tense as he was now. But as his other hand found its place at the curve of her waist, he was assured that she was very much real.

And just like that, all of his pain and his worry and his weariness ebbed away to _nothing_. Peace enveloped him, soothing his frazzled nerves even as his heart galloped away like a wild stallion. She was a balm for his soul, as gentle as the soft light of the moons above them. Her eyes, as they looked up at him, reflected these celestial satellites and the countless stars that peppered the sky in which they hung; they were as deep and beautiful as the heavens they reflected, and he felt himself happily drowning in them as they swirled around the balcony in a dance that was uniquely their own.

He had no idea what he was doing, but if it bothered her, she didn’t say. Instead, she slipped her hands over his shoulders as he swayed with her, leaning forward to rest her forehead against his chest. He was initially surprised at the movement, but he realized she must be truly exhausted, and he understood her need for physical support. He would be that support for her, willingly and gladly.

All the while, though, his thoughts were a rapid-fire storm in his mind. Could she hear his heart beating a tattoo against his ribcage, betraying his feelings for her? Did she realize what she meant to him? That she was more than just Inquisitor and Herald…that no matter how much he tried, he couldn’t make himself stop thinking about her? Maker…that he cared for her more than he cared for his own life? That he would die a thousand deaths if it meant she would be safe, that he would do anything to make her happy?

No, she would never know that…could never know that. She was the Inquisitor, and he her General. They would never be anything more, even if, by the grace of the Maker, they both wanted to be.

Right?

Suddenly, she pushed back a little and frowned, and he feared he might have offended her somehow. But then she brushed at his shirt in a rather fussy manner and remarked, “I’m going to get makeup all over your uniform.”

 _Don’t let that stop you_ , he thought. He’d happily walk around with cosmetic stains on his shirt if it meant he could keep holding her like this.

He stopped dancing, but his hands still held her waist as she cocked her head again and moved her hand to the strip of medals at his breast, half-smiling as they clinked together gently with just the slightest touch. Her gloved fingers paused at the one he had been awarded at Kirkwall by the Viscountess, the scarlet ribbon with the thin white stripe at the center, its gold medallion the shape of the Sword of Mercy. He was a bit surprised she was paying it so much attention, as it was one he had worn so often he forgot it was there; now, it was little more than a memento.

What was she thinking? What should he say?

“Cullen, I need to tell you something.”

He blinked. No title. No formality. He knew then she was speaking to him not as her General but as an acquaintance and friend.

“Of course,” he replied, watching her expression curiously. Her eyes never left his medals, and her one arm, the one still draped over his shoulder, slid to his chest, touch so light he couldn’t feel it anymore through his clothing. He tried to ignore the movement, the rustle of satin against wool, as he prompted, “You can tell me anything.”

She swallowed as her eyes drifted further down to the column of tiny brass buttons that cinched his jacket closed. He could see, then, the slightest shimmer of silver in her black eyeshadow, glimmering in the moons’ pale glow. He patiently waited for her to continue, wondering what it was that was bothering her so.

And then…

“Cullen, I care for you.”

_Cullen. I. Care. For. You._

Each word crashed into him like a wave, staggering him. He was frozen, paralyzed, and yet he felt as though the slightest breeze would send him flying over the railing. His heart raced, and his mouth went dry. He could scarcely believe she had said those words. To _him_. But before he could recover his composure or ask for clarification, she barreled on.

“I care for you,” she repeated, her words tumbling out so quickly now and with such a wavering in her voice that he had to concentrate to pick them all out, “A lot. I can’t stop thinking about you and I…no matter how hard I try I can’t get you out of my head, and…Maker, I don’t _want_ to.” She looked up at him again, imploring, “Cullen, I have to ask …need to know…could you ever feel the same way? About me? A mage? Or am I just…”

 _Just dreaming_ , was the phrase she didn’t complete. She stared at him, wide-eyed, a rosy flush creeping up her neck, her gaze glittering with emotion.

“I-I…” he began, but the words just refused to come out. His vocal cords had been rendered utterly useless, and his mouth hung open dumbly.

Clearly embarrassed by what she had just done, she spun around in a swirl of black satin and strode for the edge of the balcony, her hands pinned to her sides. “Maker, what did I just do? What was I thinking? Oh, I’ve been so terribly _foolish_ …”

 _Damnit, Rutherford,_ do _something, or you’ll lose her before you even start!_

Without a word, he followed her, taking both her bare shoulders in his hands and turning her around. She almost squeaked in surprise at his touch.

“Wha-”

But he cut her off by sealing his lips over hers.

She went rigid for a moment, obviously stunned, but then relaxed into his arms as he slid them around her waist, pulling her tighter to him. He hoped – _prayed_ – that this would tell her all she desired to know and then some. That _this_ would not fail him like his voice had. He kissed her with all the gentleness he could muster, with every ounce of tenderness he had in him. Maker, the last thing he wanted to do was frighten her, and so he resisted the urge to give in to his passion completely, instead pulling back from her only a few breaths later.

Her eyes fluttered open as he suddenly broke the kiss, her lashes like black feather fans against her cheeks. A soft gasp escaped her, and her expression was one of pure shock.

“Does that answer your question…Verana?” he finally managed to say in a husky whisper.

Those mesmerizing blue-violet irises stared deeply into his, a smile pulling at her lips even as they trembled a bit, and a glassy tear slid silently down her cheek. “Yes, Cullen. Yes, it does.”

“Good,” he mirrored her gentle smile, pressing his forehead to hers before taking her lips in his own again.

And this time, he didn’t hold back.


End file.
